


Devil of an Ex

by Enterthetadpole



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Eventual Smut, Exes, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Humor, Jealous Aziraphale (Good Omens), Lucifer Morningstar Being Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV), M/M, Possessive Crowley, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-21 09:53:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21072962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enterthetadpole/pseuds/Enterthetadpole
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley have taken a very long time to finally get to actually dating each other. Too bad that there are still a few skeletons in Crowley's closet he hasn't told his angel about yet.And one of them has a devilish set of horns...





	1. Tea with a Spoonful of Besotted Memories

**Author's Note:**

> Attn: New chapters beginning May 1, 2020!
> 
> Thank you to everyone who took the time to read and reread the beginning of this chapter. I truly do appreciate this fandom so much. You are all angels (pun definitely intended).
> 
> Kudos and comments are always welcomed!
> 
> A huge thank you to AO3 user Raechem for editing and beta reading!

Crowley always could remain cool under pressure. Well, perhaps not _ always. _ There _ may _ have been a few badly timed incidents in which a demon (who _ may _have looked a hell of a lot like Crowley) lost his proverbial shit. All of them also may have been connected to the events of an apocalypse that didn't happen.

But that was in the past. Two months, three weeks, four days, eight hours and forty five minutes ago, to be exact. It had also been, more importantly, one minute and eighteen seconds since Crowley had moved from his seated position at Aziraphale’s small dining room table, his teacup lifted halfway to his slack-jawed expression as he stared at Aziraphale behind his shaded glasses. The angel's - _ his _angel's - bright blue eyes shifted guiltily from Crowley's shocked features to his own unfinished cup of tea. 

"Oh, dear...I was worried that this _ particular _topic might be troublesome…"

The fretful timber of Aziraphale's voice felt like holy water being splashed directly into Crowley’s face--scalding, terribly uncomfortable, and decidedly _ wrong _in every way. Crowley’s reaction was instantaneous. The teacup was drained into Crowley's mouth as if it were his more customary glass of wine. The demon frowned, already deciding that he never wanted to hear this type of dread coming from Aziraphale ever again. 

"It's not that it's ‘troublesome’, angel," Crowley muttered, rolling his shoulders to prove that this was indeed a _completely_ comfortable conversation for him. "It's just..I thought that you were wanting...I mean. What with the whole _you go_ _too fast for me..._thing--”

The rest of the Crowley's words seemed to have been gulped down with his tea. Aziraphale winced, furtively glancing around them. As if their entire discussion was being internet live streamed in glorious high definition. 

"That was _ before _," Aziraphale said after a moment. 

"Before _ what _, exactly?" 

Aziraphale shrugged. "Before everything, really. Before I knew that we would make it on the other end of this. Before I felt how much it hurt to be apart from you, my dear. Before we both realized we'd been chasing after each other for the past 6000 years. Now...that things have settled, our arrangement can be more...mutually exclusive…”

Crowley raised an eyebrow, and Aziraphale cleared his throat.

“Our arrangement can be more mutually exclusive?” Crowley repeated, starting to feel a little amused. “Is that your adorably ruffled way of saying that you want us to date properly?”

Crowley's stomach did an odd little flip at the sight of Aziraphale’s cheeks rapidly turning a rosier color. The angel fidgeted with his watch for a moment. His stammering and stuttering were just absurdly precious bonuses, as far as Crowley was concerned. 

“No...I mean, well - yes,” Aziraphale answered. He gave a small nod as he seemed to cement the notion in his own head. “Yes, absolutely. We should properly date.”

Another stomach flip at this confirmation. Crowley was starting to think he might not survive this conversation. Still there was no need to get ahead of himself. Just take deep and steady breaths and try not to explode from joy from the inside out. Human bodies weren’t easy to get at the best of times, and now with them on their_ own side _, human bodies were practically non existent. Aziraphale cleared his throat in a matter of fact tone, pulling Crowley back from his apparent staring out into the middle distance. 

“And since we are now going to properly date,” Aziraphale continued, “I think that it’s needed to know about our past romantic entanglements. Just to get everything out on the table, in a manner of speaking, right?”

A small smile was aimed towards Crowley. The type of shy smile that Crowley had first been bathed in back in the garden. When he had no clue that a smile could actually shake him to his very core. Perhaps he should have eaten that fruit of knowledge instead of Adam and Eve. Could have saved everyone a whole lot of unneeded stress. Not to mention all the blasted paperwork. 

“Romantic entanglements?” Crowley parroted with a chuckle at the end. “Angel, you make love sound like some sort of business arrangement. Kind of the opposite of what angelic love is, wouldn’t you say?”

It may have been a trick of the light, but Crowley could have sworn that Aziraphale had blushed even more. 

"William and I went on a couple of strolls through vineyards during his time on Earth," Aziraphale blurted out. "Nothing happened but...I will admit that I wouldn't have been opposed if a bit more had occurred. He was always such a stylish man and his sonnets were positively stunning."

Crowley's eyebrows almost hit his hairline at this fast confession. 

"You dated Shakespeare? My, my... Aziraphale, you sly little - "

"Strolls, Crowley!" Aziraphale squeaked. "Just strolls. He was a very busy man and I wasn't one to push."

Another few minutes of silence followed this. The slow glow of the midday sun slowly twisted to a darker hue of the start of the evening. Crowley twiddled with his own coat buttons as the blue eyes of his angel started to glance back over to him expectantly. 

"Crowley? Aren't you going to ummm...tell me about your past?"

This would usually be the time that Crowley took the easy route and became a snake. That usually stopped these types of conversations when they got twisted back onto himself. Unfortunately, Aziraphale wasn't a group of gossiping humans to tempt or to scare. Or to tempt _ and _scare, which Crowley more preferred. Instead his angel was a celestial collection of occasional white feathers and silly pomposity. He was the sticky sweetness of crepes and subtle scent of cherished old books. He was the before, during and after of God and her ineffable plan.

"Crowley?" Aziraphale said again. This time that slight edge of uncertainty and dread made an encore. No, that wouldn't do at all. 

"No one of importance, angel," Crowley said much too quickly. "A few hundred or so humans...strictly hell based temptations mind you. While I was first dabbling in Hell I had some wild nights with other demons. Nothing serious. All in good fun. Like going to human university...just more soot and brimstone and less keg stands."

Aziraphale tutted at this lack of morality, but only long enough for him to bustle back off to the back room to the tiny kitchen to start another round of tea. The kettle whistled at the perfect time as Crowley added, "And I may have had an ongoing fling with the Devil, but that was ages ago."

The clatter of what was undoubtedly a set of what once was a splendid set of porcelain shattered to the floor. Then the unmistakable footsteps of a very annoyed ex-guardian of the eastern entrance to the Garden of Paradise heading towards him. The flaming sword now replaced with a very long broom for cleaning up a turn of the century tea set. 

"Ongoing fling with _ whom_?" Aziraphale yelped. 

Crowley always could remain cool under pressure. Well, perhaps not _ always. _There may have been one badly timed incident when a certain demon may have jumped out of his chair and run towards the front door of his favorite book shop. Somehow forgetting that his tight trousers were not made for such a silly feat like actually getting anywhere in a hurry. 

Something to absolutely complain to the designer about on his next online review. What good was looking fashionable if it eventually assisted in your (hopefully) soon to be boyfriend of (potentially) beating you senseless with a broom? 

At least the floor of A.Z. Fell and Company was plushly carpeted. It made the landing less painful, anyway. 


	2. No Brooms Were Harmed in the Making of this Chapter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos, comments and love are always welcomed! Thank you so much for reading!

Crowley never really read much before he met Aziraphale. It wasn’t as if he thought books were boring or beneath him in one way or another. Books were perfectly fine in their quiet and unassuming way. Square in both a physical and metaphorical sense, but they had just as much of a right to clutter up shelves as anything else. 

Aziraphale also shared this sentiment regarding anything else on bookshelves. At the present moment the angel - _ his _angel - was grumbling to himself as he moved various volumes of Jane Austin first editions from a dangerously overstuffed bookshelf to the right of where Crowley lay out on a flowery couch, with the demon's glasses off on a side table, and an oversized ice pack on his head. 

The broom had _ not _(thank the sinners) been the reason why the ice pack was pulled into active duty. Even though the floor was covered in soft material to handle a fall of a panicking demon, a badly placed bust of William Shakespeare was not. To get a mild concussion alone was irritating. To get a concussion by slamming your head on the marble likeness of your (still hopefully) new boyfriend's previous crush is almost cosmically ironic. 

"Angel," Crowley groaned after another few minutes. His eyes were still shut tight, but Aziraphale was definitely still in search for something. "What in damnation are you doing?"

There was no actual coherent response. Just more grumbling huffs as more books and pieces of bric-a-bracs fell to the floor in a collection of thumps, bumps and occasional thunks. Crowley knew this was part of how Aziraphale coped. His books held the answers to questions regardless of the subject or situation. And mercy given to the hapless creature who dared to suggest an answer may be found elsewhere. 

"Ah! I knew it!"

Shouting was not what Crowley wanted right now, even if it was Aziraphale who sounded elated. The whole broken skull thing and all. Yet in a matter of moments the couch shifted with the familiar weight of an angel. His face alight with a glow of extreme satisfaction of finding exactly what he wanted to locate. Crowely peered blearily at the title of the book in Aziraphale's outstretched hands. 

_ Left Behind: My Life and Loves Before LA _

_ A Memoir by Lucifer Morningstar _

Crowley squinted at the words, as if that might actually help to arrange themselves into some other type of insanity. A cookbook on based on nursery rhymes or an instructional manual on building a Bentley out of fishing wire and animal parts. However, neither of those kind of books would logically have the entity whom he, Anthony J. Crowley, had shagged on and off for 66 and a half years. The bastard even in fully human form looked too bloody gorgeous to be real. Leaned up against a stunning black piano in what looked like some decadently delicious night club. His eyes dark and shimmering with that slight crimson glow that Crowley knew way too well. Had relished making them roll back in extreme satisfaction in hours of foreplay and sex that made actual lava appear in rings five, six and seven.

“He wrote a book?” Crowley rasped. His voice almost awestruck.

“Yes,” Aziraphale replied. “He wrote a book. And not just any book, Crowley. It’s an _ official _ autobiography of his past dalliances while in the depths of Hell. Before creating the antichrist from what I can tell by the publication year. Are you saying that you knew _ nothing _ about this?”

Crowley blinked. 

“No, of course not. I had no ruddy clue that the boss would do a tell all book. Not even sure how I actually feel about that…”

Aziraphale sniffed and shuffled around and opened up the book properly. 

“Are you going to - “

“Of course I’m going to read it,” Aziraphale grumbled. “Just because you say that your relationship with him was not much to go on about doesn’t mean that he felt the same way.”

Crowley blinked again. This was beginning to be more than his concussed brain could handle.

“Angel, it was centuries ago. Office romances always go to shit anyway. Especially when it’s with your higher ups...and you can’t go any higher up than Satan himself…”

If Aziraphale was paying any attention at all, he was doing an amazing job at pretending that he was not. Now that a book and research was involved in a subject, Crowley had better luck talking to his ice pack. 

“There aren’t any real names in here,” Aziraphale grunted after a few minutes. “Well, unless there are demons named “Poppet” and “Yank Yanks”.

Crowley laughed, and then immediately regretted it. Head injuries were such an inconvenient thing. 

“Pet names,” Crowley said. His eyes closed again and readjusting his ice pack. “He always gave us pet names. Mine should be easy enough to spot.”

Another few page flips and Crowley heard the unmistakable sound of his angel finding exactly that. 

“Apples was always a favorite of mine,” Aziraphale recited, and Crowley could actually feel his muscles cringe. “I’m partial to redheads, and what he could do with that tongue. There was this one particular time with that sexy snakeboy of mine surprised me with a blowjob underneath the table of a little hot spot we used to go for sushi."

Maybe if Crowley was a snake he wouldn’t be able to blush. Snakes didn’t blush, right? It had been a while since he had needed a reason to check.

Aziraphale scoffed, then stared hard at Crowley. "There's sushi restaurants in Hell?"

"Barely three stars, angel," Crowley whimpered back. "I promise that I didn't enjoy it nearly as much as I enjoyed our lunches and - "

"I thought you didn't eat human food until after you were on Earth!"

Somehow it was unfair to have this type of argument when his head was aching and he was in a very reclined position. Still he soldiered on.

"It wasn't_ human _ food at the time," he explained, his voice cracking at the end. "Hell invented sushi, and humans just happened to be influenced by the proper channels to make it available up above."

This seemed to rattle Aziraphale in a way that gave Crowley enough time to sit up slowly on the couch to be on a slightly better playing field. He still kept a hold of the ice pack though, just in case. 

"Sushi was..." Aziraphale sputtered. "I've been enjoying food imagined by demons?"

"Angel, it's mutilated and butchered fish being strangled by dead seaweed. Who else but Hell spawns would come up with such a concept?"

Aziraphale seemed to not know how to begin to process this new information, so instead of working it through, he did the next best thing. He began to continue to search through the book for more things to be grumpy about.


	3. Mental Note: Temptation is Not a Two Evil Entity Event

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos help feed the hellfire. Thank you for reading!

Crowley was aware that there were so many things to love about Aziraphale. A smile that could rival the stars. A brain full of equal parts quick wit and bookish intensity. Jaw dropping bravery. Curves that could stop traffic on the M5. Crowley had noticed all of these things when he was still slithering in the garden. The way that the angel - _ his _ angel - would watch the two lovebirds with such a soft expression. Occasionally Crowley would be able to get close enough to feel the warmth that radiated from the white wings. Back then he blamed the need to be close to being cold blooded. 

It took a few solid centuries for Crowley to admit the truth to himself. It took nearly being destroyed by both sides for him to get his narrow arse in gear and do something about it. And he had. Sort of. 

At least the bell of_ let’s try it _ had absolutely been rung. It had sounded like those overly pompous church bells that he had long since tried to forget. Something that God Almighty Herself would switch out for that bloody _ Sound of Music _ soundtrack. Great Satan below, talk about torture.

Crowley groaned as his head reminded him of his close encounter of the marble busted kind, and he leaned back against the soft pillows of the well worn couch. The ice pack pressed up like one of those adorable facehugger aliens. Pity that it couldn’t block out the sound of Aziraphale as he continued to read out loud. 

“Apples was a tricky little serpent,” Aziraphale recited, “but even though I hate to admit it, my times with him were some of the most enjoyable I have had before deciding to come to Los Angeles. After my temptation of Eve, I decided that Earth had many more things to offer than just an overgrown garden. “

Crowley jolted upright, and then instantly regretted that decision. The ice pack fell to the ground with a sound very close to the death cry of a half filled water balloon. Aziraphale lowered the book and looked over curiously to the demon.

“He…” Crowley began, spluttering as he pressed through the pain in his head. “Read...read that last bit again?”

Aziraphale blinked, but glanced back to the section. 

“After my temptation of Eve, I decided that Earth had many more things to offer than just an overgrown garden.“

Crowley felt something his gut twist, and not a way that he had known since the longest time. It was hot and prickly. A muscle deep queasiness that one usually associated with bad Chinese take away. If Crowley had been able to look past the shock of what he had heard he would have known that this emotion had an actual name. _ Betrayal _. One of those dirty words that caused lesser creatures to throw chairs on daytime network television.

“Crowley, dear...are you all right?”

Aziraphale’s voice was closer now. He must have sat down and held onto Crowley’s hand as well. He must have done this because Crowley felt warmth absorbing through his skin. The telltale brushing of a thumb over his knuckles. The subtle shift in the universe that only occurred when Aziraphale looked at him this way. As if Crowley was the beginning, end and everywhere in between. 

“Crowley?” 

“That fucking bastard!” Crowley screamed, and Aziraphale actually gave a little jump. “That fucking bastard actually lied about the garden. Put it in print that he tempted Eve when it was me that did it. That was the only thing I had that I was really proud of until…”

Crowley paused, his cheeks turning monetarily red. “Until I helped stop...you know...the thing.”

Aziraphale frowned, and then smiled.

“Stop the thing?” Aziraphale repeated, with his amusement barely contained. “Is that what you call saving the world, my dear?”

Apparently Crowley decided that the loose thread on the arm of Aziraphale’s couch was more fascinating than giving a proper answer. He picks at it with his free hand as he gives a small nod.

“I'm proud of you too,” Aziraphale whispered, and it really wasn’t right for Crowley to have to deal with all of these emotions when he's barely eaten and more than likely suffering a minor brain trauma. Perhaps he was actually in hospital right now and none of this had happened. No, that couldn't be the case. Aziraphale felt too real and solid for this to be a nightmare.

“Besides,” Aziraphale went on, “I always thought that you made a sacrifice of the truth to please Satan. Have him taking credit is what my lot does for God, so I just assumed that demons do the same. All for the greater bad, right?”

Crowley was smart enough this time not to shake his head no. Instead he threw out a bitter scoff and continued to enjoy having his hand held. It was (there was no other word for it) _ nice _. A four letter word that usually had him wanting to push the nearest angel (and still hopefully soon to be boyfriend) against some piece of sturdy drywall and re enact some of his favorite partnering yoga positions. Naked and frequently. 

“Angel, it’s not that simple…” Crowley replied. “Yes, it _ is _ true that we work towards a common goal like up there, but there is still honor among thieves, so to speak. I don’t give a damnation about what those ratty tabloids or worse still, what the _ bible _ said about my role in humanity and that silly apple tree. It’s that _ he _would directly say that it was him in snake form that caused the fall of man. That was something that we…”

Again words seemed to hate him today. Went with all of the other things that had been going wrong. Aziraphale sighed and patted at his right hand again. His blue eyes shimmering with such a softness that Crowley felt a shiver go down his spine that he decided to blame on the aftermath of so many shocks in a single afternoon. 

“Then we will go and tell him how much that hurt,” Aziraphale said firmly.

Crowley stared back because obviously the hit to head must have also caused some sort of short term auditory hallucinations. Maybe if Crowley concentrated hard enough he would be able to conjure up the acoustic version of Queen’s _ The Love of My Life _. Seemed fitting considering the also very real feeling squeeze on his hand again. 

“It makes the most sense to head out to see him, right?” Aziraphale continued in a matter of fact tone. “Something this important just simply can not be done through a phone call. I can make all of the arrangements and we can be in LA within the next few days. You can see Lucifer and - “

“What?” 

Apparently Crowley finally shifted back into the proper gear to get a true understanding of what Aziraphale had been going on about. Going to LA and talking it out with the Lord of the literal underworld was not his idea of the way he wanted to spend his first real date with his angel. 

“It’s the only way to get this issue behind us...I mean..._ you _ ,” Aziraphale said in a rush. “Get behind _ you _. Then we can properly date with no angry feelings towards exes.”

With that Aziraphale was off of the couch and heading towards the back of the bookshop, with Crowley staring at the place where his angel had been just a few moments ago. That’s what being in love did to creatures. Made them besotted messes of hormones and whimpers. Made their minds easily rattled, and fall into silent agreement just because the other one smiled like the stars and smelled like fresh biscuits and chamomile tea. 

Maybe a meet up wouldn’t be so bad. It had been the whole verbal slap to the face of little Adam that had caused that whole holiday of Lucifer Morningstar to become a more permanent gig. Granted, forgiveness was never one of Lucy’s more endearing traits, but he did look great in that suit and looked more well rested than Crowley had seen him in a few millennia. If this insane idea worked, he would get closure. If it went tits up, well, at least discorporation would be in the sunny debauchery of Los Angeles. 


	4. Liquid Courage with a Splash of Lime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The delay has been awful on this story, and I truly apologize! However I got my brain back on straight, even if my head is still the wrong way round. As always kudos and comments are my sushi and crepes! 
> 
> As always thank you to Raechem for their beta work and constant encouragement!

Crowley saw drinking as an answer. Perhaps not the _ best _ type of answer. It's not as if he could shout out ‘gin and tonic’ during every round of Trivial Pursuit or sip a well shaken martini when combating the flu, but liquor was at least warm and deliberate in the ways it smoothed over his rougher edges.

The bartender gave him a wink as he poured the next glass of brandy. This time with only a couple of ice cubes to deal with on the way down. However the angel - _ his _angel - cleared his throat in that very Aziraphale-ish type of way that had Crowley already bracing for the impact of a conversation he wasn't drunk enough to have yet.

"What?"

Apparently his fangs were already out and bared by the scandalized way Aziraphale opened his mouth and then closed it several times. He reminded Crowley of some sort of ethereal puffer fish. All rippled gills and illuminated bubbles. 

“That’s your _ third _ one in less than an hour.”

This must be what Crowley had recalled in an episode about Dr. Phil how some people (or in this situation, a very persnickety angel) - talk about topics instead of issues.

"...and?"

Evidently Crowley was going to play the part of the curmudgeonous lush, and his (hopefully) boyfriend cast into the role of counting his liquid indulgences. 

"_ And? _" Aziraphale parroted back. His hands swiveled around the surrounding area, as if that might actually provide additional evidence. "We're in the middle of Heathrow about to board a plane in less than _ twenty _minutes."

This wasn't having the effect that Aziraphale had hoped for, because these locations and timeframes _were_ the main reasons that alcohol was a necessity. Crowley picked up the glass, swallowed it in one giant gulp, and then placed it empty and defeated back on the table. His admission exhaled like some sort of deathbed confession.

"Don't like planes. Need to be properly sauced before I get on them."

And there Aziraphale went. His face turned soft like the down feathers of those ridiculous ducks they fed in the park, and it wasn’t fair because that look made Crowley want to jump into those sturdy arms and snuggle in. As if he was some sort of bloody house cat. He’d might even fucking purr if Aziraphale ran those overly manucured fingers through his hair. That was fine. Crowely already lost his dignity six or so centuries ago when he slithered over to meet-cute with an angel.

“Oh, my dear...I’m sorry. Never told me about that. Should have figured out though, with past events that your lot wouldn't...well…”

“Wouldn’t want to be trapped on a roaring metal tube full of potential explosions and _ definite _ bird farts piloted by creatures who were never meant to have wings?” 

Aziraphale wrinkled his nose as if he had smelled the farts as well, then snuck stealthy peeks to make sure they were not being overheard. His gaze lingered on the formerly winking bartender, as if he had been dodgy from the start. 

“No, no. More with the whole fallen from the heavens business,” Aziraphale muttered, leaning over so much now that Crowley could unquestionably smell his new cologne now. “That would of course cause trauma and - “

Crowley actually snorted at that. His shoulders shook with barely controlled laughter that even the bartender shot him a quizzical look. 

“Fallen from the heavens? Devil below, it was never as dramatic as all _ that _, angel. More like an eviction notice, really…”

Drink number four appeared, and this time the napkin underneath the glass had the bartender’s number. Then another wink, and before Crowley had a chance to process any of this, the napkin was gone to be replaced by what was - up until that point - Aziraphale’s coaster for his obscenely non alcoholic glass of strawberry lemonade. 

Seemingly Aziraphale was better with sleight of hand than Crowley thought. 

Hindsight was always a bastard, and its 20/20 vision was something that it had not given to Crowley by the time he sauntered vaguely out of the restaurant. Thank Satan for his shades and a non- wobbly angel to get them both moving into the direction of the gate. Though Crowley was able to feel the _I_ _told you so_ practically on the edge of Aziraphale’s upper lip. It took all the strength Crowley possessed not to kiss it off. Excellent. _ Now _ he was properly drunk for overseas travel. 

“Blanket?”

“Prefer bourbon if you’ve got it, love.”

Aziraphale sighed as he apologized to the flight attendant, then took the two blankets from her hands and set one on his lap before unfolding the other one for Crowley. It felt like lightning bolts every time the angel’s hands came in contact with Crowley’s skin. That kind of electricity surely wasn’t the best for air travel. 

“If you get any more sloshed they’ll put you in the overhead compartment, and I _ may _ just let them.”

It’s difficult to act taken aback when you're three sheets in the wind. Facial muscles don’t tense up the right way, and clutching one’s pearls take coordination that are beyond Crowley’s depth. So instead he grunted something whiny under his breath, then snuggled down further in the blanket. In return Aziraphale rolled his eyes so hard that he might need to see an optometrist when they landed. 

About four hours into the flight Aziraphale had pulled out what must have been five small bunches of pastel colored yarn and wooden knitting needles. His eye glasses were on the end of his nose and his focus laser sharp as if he was performing open heart surgery. Crowley watched him slowly create what looked like a large deformed sock. With green apples all over it, or were those designs supposed to gumdrops? 

"They're pears," Aziraphale explained. "And it's a tea cozy."

Only Aziraphale could be this adorably old fashioned. Next thing he'd be trying to do is walk the aisles teaching other passengers the gavotte. Good that he was trapped in the window seat. 

At the halfway point of their twelve hours’ flight Crowley was in a deeply nuanced disagreement with the head flight attendant as to one of the choices given for the free flight movie. 

"Really? _ Snakes on a Plane _? What bloody berk gave that the green light?"

Perhaps _deeply nuanced_ was not the proper descriptor, but either way Crowley was offered more drinks in way of an apology. Even Aziraphale hadn't protested, and that said a lot. 

"Good afternoon. This is your captain speaking. We will be landing in Los Angeles, California in the next thirty minutes. The local time is 12:25pm and the weather is bright and sunny. Please be prepared for the fasten seat belt sign."

The soft beep of the seat belt indicator helped blink Crowley back into the conscious world. His head already regretted that last rum and coke and his limbs were all at odd angles. 

"Are you up for a bite to eat before we head to the rental cottage?" Aziraphale asked, his now finished tea cozy and other supplies stored safely away.

"Sure, angel. Whatever you like. Just as long as they have coffee."


	5. Another Splendid Reason Why Angels Shouldn't Rent Vehicles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm awful for making everyone wait so long for a new chapter, but I promise that I will make it up with more frequent updates, virtual hugs and kisses. Thank you as always to my lovely and patient beta queen Raechem and to all of you sinfully wonderful readers!

Crowley never took humans too seriously. They were odd little life forms scampering about with their eyes so busy on phone screens that they’d crash into the sides of buildings. Then shout at the structures as if _ they’d _been the arseholes who’d jumped into their paths. It was enough to make Crowley wish he hadn’t invented selfies. Just to show them all that there are more lovely things to look like than themselves pucker their lips like featherless ducks.

Lovely things like Aziraphale, for example. Crowley adored practically anything Aziraphale did. His favorite activity as of late was watching Aziraphale smooth napkins over his curvy legs as they relaxed in overstuffed booths in newly discovered bistros. It was something about how the angel - _ his _ angel - would make sure that the fabric was as squarish of a square as possible just for it to be abandoned to the floor once the plates of food hit the table. 

Unfortunately for Crowley, the particular look he was tossing over at Aziraphale today was more of a glare than a glow. The barely held in adoration and affection became now some odd mixture of indignation, incredulity, irritation, and a few other words that began with the letter “i” because he must have gotten to the _How the Fuck Could Aziraphale Do This to Me?_ section of his brain. 

Aziraphale did what he always did in these types of situations, and looked as innocent as (well) an angel. His twinkling blue eyes blinking back the cute confusion of someone who thought that the vehicle he had chosen for their LA trip to confront Crowley’s ex-boyfriend and (at the moment) ex ruler of hell should be _ exactly _what was idling in front of them at Centurion Lifestyle Luxury Car Rentals.

“It’s stylish!” Aziraphale declared, already assuming where this conversation was headed. He wasn’t wrong. 

“It’s a…” 

Crowley’s mouth was definitely moving, but nothing was coming out of it. No words to help back up the wild hand gestures that he was currently making at the car that hadn’t _ technically _done anything wrong. At least not yet. It was biding its time though, and Crowley fucking knew it. 

“It’s a Smart Fortwo,” Aziraphale huffed out, as if saying the make and model out loud would somehow make the evilness of it less palpable. As if it was some sort of vehicalized version of Voldemort. Granted, Crowley _ had _ flinched at the name like he was a terrified wizard but that was beside the point.

"I'm bloody aware of what it is," Crowley hissed back. "The question is _ why _did you think that this hipster’s wet dream was a suitable way to get around Los Angeles?”

Crowley’s question must have been in some other language than English with the way that Aziraphale was gawking at him. It was possible since Crowley had recently begun to relearn Latin as of late. Made for an excellent ice breaker in certain crowds. 

“Hipster’s wet dream,” Aziraphale repeated, so good. It did appear that Crowley had been still speaking English. “Now really, Crowley...stop being so..._ melodramatic _. It’s a perfectly lovely way to travel through the city.”

It was difficult to be rational when in the middle of a nervous breakdown. Melodramatic, or otherwise. Crowley was having a moment here, and Aziraphale was apparently too self righteous to notice it. What the angel _ did _ notice was the way that Crowley seemed to be making the proper measurements in his head as to how to fix this obvious error. Perhaps a Tesla?

“Don’t you dare,” Aziraphale snapped, his face practically scandalized. 

Compromises didn’t taste good at all. Kind of like overly sweetened tea, and Crowley’s mouth was suddenly full of the flavor. So he needed to spit it out before it made him vomit up all over this monstrosity of a rental car, because yes, he most certainly would aim in that direction. 

“Least let me change the color to something less...mockingly ethereal?”

This request had a slightly more negotiable reaction. As if Aziraphale was weighing the options of forcing a demon from driving them around in something that bore such an uncanny shade of the pearly gates. The car wasn’t just a blinding white, but it seemed to almost sparkle in the light of sunny California and that was just too much for Crowley to deal with right now. 

“Fine,” Aziraphale said in a fervent whisper. “But please be subtle about it.”

Subtlety did not wear tight black leather pants as casual wear, but Crowley decided that this was not the hill he wanted to be discorporated on. That honor would be connected with something musically related. In a small wave of his right hand the Hipster’s Wet Dream shifted to a much more palatable flash of crimson, and Aziraphale’s grumble of irritation was completely ignored.


	6. Inconvenient arousal is...inconvenient

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy.. but this chapter gave me all sorts of trouble! But a huge thank you to my wonderful beta reader Raechem and the unflappable Fandoms_Unite to get me through this insane idea. Kudos and comments are always good food for the soul!

Crowley enjoyed pleasure. True that statement was redundant, but demons were the type who needed to make sure that their wants were put on obvious display. Flashing in neon lights, Las Vegas-style if they had the adequate voltage. Hell could be a pretty rough place, and yes there was merriment to be had if you knew the right orgies to frequent, but when _ why the fuck not? _ was as much of a greeting as _ how do you do? _it was best to make sure that you were up (or in many cases down) for anything sexually inspired. 

So when the Devil himself had winked at Crowley for the very first time, Crowley had winked back. Puffed up both his chest and wings and practically strutted like a peacock to show off that he was_ indeed _ interested. Lucifer in turn pushed both alcohol and agreements into Crowley's hungry hands. Whispered filthy and delicious desires into existence and then an explosion of so much sinful badness appeared that Crowley lost at least a month half of his photographic memory to the events. 

Gone. 

As if snipped away like pieces of an otherwise serviceable movie onto the cutting room floor. 

Eventually, when the soot settled, Crowley realized that dating the Lord of the Underworld hadn't been the best of ideas. Satan was a busy ruler. A workaholic whose penance was to forever put out both actual and figurative fires, but it was fun until it was over. They had parted ways with the same rush of drink and depravity as they had started. And that was cool. Well, maybe not _ cool _, but Crowley knew that he was only able to be the flavor of the millennia for only so long. Besides, the bragging rights that Crowley had regardless of how it ended made for a very good confidence builder. And even then he would still get the random nod from Lucifer to join him for a few trips of down lusty lanes. 

The feelings of falling for the literal Fallen One was wonderful, but it was nothing but a flicker to the flame that now seemed to burn eternal for an angel. An angel who brightened up any room by just entering it. An angel who knitted ridiculously cute tea cozies and fawned over Hamlet. An angel who was _ his _angel, even before Fate decided to be the greatest cockblocker that Crowley ever encountered.

However, there was a _ certain _ contractual obligation that Crowley hadn’t recalled that he made with Lucifer until a _ certain _ cluster of nerves began to be tingled. And this _ certain _ cluster of nerves that began to tingle were softly insistent and teasing in just that devilishly wrong type of way. And that devilish wrongness. (Wronged-ness?) Well, whatever it was had Crowley needing to lean into it. Like a decadent sunbeam beaconing one of his houseplants to sway a tiny bit in a warming direction. The same pleasant thumping that came right before a really spectacular - 

“Fuck,” Crowley groaned, and Aziraphale lifted his head from reading his book in the passenger seat to look over. With his browline all worried wrinkles like those adorable pug puppies and Crowley breathed in through his mouth and out through his nose and absolutely was not freaking the hell out. That would absolutely not fix the situation he was currently experiencing while speeding in a Hipster’s Wet Dream of a car on the 405-North. And his hands were absolutely not death gripping the steering wheel either.

There seemed to be a point in time where Cowley should have mentioned one of the more (ahem) invasive agreements that he and Lucifer had (ahem again) entered into involved a toy of a (ahem for a third time) sexual nature. And this toy of a sexual nature was to be discreetly activated when Crowley was in fairly close proximity to Lucifer. 

_ “Consider it a buttplug GPS system,” _ Lucifer had slurred, all smiles and heated kisses. His nimble fingers pushing the device into place with the skill of...well, the devil. _ “Always your choice, Crowley...love.” _

“And you said _ yes _ to it?” Aziraphale shouted, and Crowley didn’t need to be chastised at while being wibble wobbled to an ultimate climax. Talk about creating an accidental kink. 

“You...you just said: ‘Sure that’s fine, Master of Eternal Darkness. Give my prostate a good old fashioned whizz and fizz whenever I happen to _ not _ be saving the world from the apocalypse!’ “

Crowley huffed out something that was somewhere between an indignant laugh and a whimper of pleasure at that. It was a sound he hoped never to make again. At least not in a Smart Car. He _ did _ have standards. 

“Whizz and fizz,” Crowley repeatedly. “It’s an otherworldly anal plug, angel. Not a fucking ice cream soda.”

Aziraphale opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by Crowley groaning something out that may or may not have been French. A bevy of very suggestive utterances that would've made his imprisonment in the Bastille with Aziraphale being in chains a very convenient situation. 

Dear devil below, those kinds of thoughts were _ not _ helping Crowley in the slightest. 

Within another right turn Crowley was off of the interstate and onto a side street. His mind focused on trying to get to a somewhat more private area. Motels were everywhere in LA, and Aziraphale could read books in the bedroom while Crowley had a minute or twenty in the bathroom. Then he could change his pants after a fairly nice orgasm and stay there until he properly discorporated in embarrassment. 

“Can’t you…” Aziraphale started, almost politely. Almost as if Crowley wasn’t being hammered in the arse by an otherwise invisible sex aid. “...you...err, turn it off?”

Crowley shook his head as he wiggled in the driver’s seat. The red lights on this side street were ridiculously long. “Not when it’s been activated. I must have left it in the ‘on’ position after the last encounter I - “

“You left it on?” Aziraphale sighed. His eyes shut tight as Crowley felt another spasm. “Crowley, what in God’s name did you do that for?”

It took way too much energy to point out to Aziraphale that God had very little to do with this series of events, so Crowley instead kept driving. His legs and arms now so tensed that he was convinced that they could be used as building materials in a pinch. Another wave of pulsing hit Crowley and he was very grateful to be wearing sunglasses with the way his eyes were rolling. 

“N..N..Need to stop the car,” he stammered, and then turned at the next possible road. It thankfully was a very small road with very little traffic and Crowley sighed as he pulled off and unbuckled his seat belt. 

“What are you going to - “ Aziraphale started, but then squeaked a bit as Crowley unlocked the doors. 

“You may want to leave the car, angel.”

“I will not,” Aziraphale snapped back, looking positively shocked at Crowley’s suggestion that he stands on the side of the road.

Crowley groaned as he removed his jacket and placed it on his lap. “Fine then. You want our first sexual dalliance to be in something as shameful as a FuckYou, then so be it.”

It was unfortunate that Crowley was too preoccupied with his erection to enjoy how Aziraphale’s face went the exact shade of crimson as their rental vehicle. Instead with what could only be described as a blur of tartan and affronted pomposity Aziraphale was out of the car with a final “It’s called a ForTwo and you very well _ know _ that _ .” _

And sure Crowley knew that. Well, perhaps a different less horny and lust-filled Crowley - who just demanded that the angel whom he’d fallen head over snake tail for over 6,000 years ago - get out of their rented mini-fridge on wheels so that he could have a private (but not so private really) wank. Was this what Crowley had wanted for himself all those eons ago? He created star systems for the love of...well, not God. That’s for sure. Not anymore, anyway. 

“Should I ummm…” Aziraphale began from right outside of the door. His voice was tentative. As if not to break the already broken mood of all of this insanity. “Get you some tissues or anything for when you need to...clean up?”

Crowley grunted something about miracling it away, which Aziraphale didn’t argue about. It only took a few steady thrusts and thoughts of Aziraphale’s face to get Crowley where he needed to be, and within a snap of it was as if nothing had occurred. In what Crowley discovered, later on, was a very popular area for night time meetups with high-end prostitutes. 

So, it would seem that Crowley would need to add more cosmical irony into the ever-growing pile of being in love with an angel. And in the grand ineffability of that, he’d have to be fine with that. Also, he made a point of turning off that blasted anal plug. 

Immediately.


	7. He who hesitates,  master - umm, never mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear to you dear readers that I don't take extra long breaks between chapters on purpose...although my track record begs to differ on that, doesn't it?
> 
> Sigh. Thank you to those who are new to this story and for those who have grown grey waiting for my next update. I am trying to be better about them!
> 
> The second verse is same as he first! Kudos and comments are always welcomed!
> 
> A huge thank you to AO3 user Raechem for editing, beta reading, and having the patience of an angel.

Crowley was never the type to be embarrassed by his own sexuality. He was pansexual before there was actually a term for it, and practiced his enjoyment of both human and demonic forms as often as he could. A multitasker in the most literal sense, and he could give half a shit if others didn’t like it. Probably were just jealous of his swag anyway. 

Admittedly his swag was somewhat diminished by having an abrupt wank in the car while the love of his life pretended to not know what was going on outside of that very same car. It’s difficult to be the essence of_ cool _ when that type of misadventure occurred. However, both Crowley and the angel - _ his angel _ \- were able to be perfectly adult about the situation. 

Well, as _ adult _ as a demon and an angel could be all things considered. It was hard to tell since neither one of them were speaking at the moment. The silence of the kind that came right before a killer in one of those slasher films - that Crowley pretended not to enjoy - would jump out of the shadows and hack up sex driven teenagers. Their limbs and screams would fill up the blood-red sky in equal measure, and Crowley bloody well cheered at that type of silent dread. 

However _ this _ type of silent dread was absolutely not to be accompanied by popcorn, and Crowley needed it to end more than he had ever wanted anything else in his entire eternal existence. In hindsight, Crowley should have just turned on the radio to at least have music be the icebreaker that it was expert at being in times like these. Something that they both could focus on instead of what happened - according to the digital clock on the dashboard - about seventeen minutes ago. In Crowley’s mind, Aziraphale would chatter on about the finer points of bebop, and Crowley would try his best to not correct the angel’s butchery of modern musical history. Failure was inevitable, but why not shoot for the stars?

Then again, maybe _ shoot for the stars _ was not a best metaphor with what had just occurred in the front seat. 

Unfortunately for Crowley, Aziraphale cleared his throat in that way that meant that he was going to attempt conversation. Also unfortunately for Crowley, jumping out of a moving vehicle was frowned upon by the state of California. 

“Did you make sure that everything was properly miracled away?” Aziraphale asked, his lovely blue eyes looking everywhere that wasn’t Crowley. “I don’t want to have to explain any...mystery wet spots to the rental company.”

Splendid. This was how the discussion was starting then? Fine. 

“I did.” 

The plan was something akin to those old fashioned television detective shows. Keep his answers simple and short so as not to incriminate himself further than he had already done, and hope that there was no surprising surveillance footage. Undaunted gumshoe that Aziraphale always was, he pressed on. 

“Were you erm…thinking about…”

There were only so many places that question could go, and none of them were in a direction that ended with Crowley being able to keep his modesty intact. Well, as much modesty as a demon could actually have. So, because Crowley was more of a curiosity masochist than he’d like to admit, he turned his head enough to see Aziraphale looking back at him, his cheeks as pink as if _ he _ was the one who just masturbated within an inch of his dick. The very adorable gall of him. 

“Thinking about…” Crowley repeated, in a vain attempt to jump-start this motor of humiliation up like a Bentley on fire.

“...me,” Aziraphale finished because eventually the angel always finished what he started, whether it was a salted caramel creme brulee or an incredibly awkward exchange of words. “Were you thinking about me when you....”

Then, as if trying to be helpful without making actual hand gestures, the light blue eyes moved vaguely downwards towards Crowley’s crotch before snapping back up to meet the demon’s gaze again. The cheeks were even more pink than before, as if that should have been possible for cheeks to do. 

Oh. 

Oh. 

_ Oh. _

Now it was time for Crowley to go flushed around his face and he suddenly was reconsidering that tuck and roll out of the car. Road rash had to be a better option than this, full stop. Then again, that would leave Aziraphale to potentially crash in a FuckYou. And no one deserved that. Not even Gabriel. Well, _ maybe _ Gabriel. 

“Yes,” Crowley answered because that was the truth of it, and even though a much smarter and less emotionally destructive Crowley screaming at him from inside of his skull, that git wasn’t next to the overwhelming cosiness of an angel whose bashful smile-then-turn-back-to-stare out of the car window was like every single holiday going off at once in Crowley’s chest. The off ramp to their final destination to meet up with his devil of an ex was so much closer than before, but Crowley couldn’t help but smile too.


End file.
